Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
He laughed. “Yeah. I’ll pour you a glass. I think we could both use a stiff drink after that conversation.”
“You guys finished blowing each other or what?” I heard beside us, and turned to see Isaac standing in the doorway.
I froze. Had he fucking seen us messing around?
“Yeah, you know, we got each other off, and then I agreed to make him some dinner,” Cohen said as though it were a joke.
Isaac rolled his eyes, which assured me he hadn’t actually seen anything. “Whatever. The Wi-Fi at the bookstore didn’t work as well as I figured it would, so might as well use my phone hotspot. I’ll be upstairs, working.”
“Just make sure to get your ass down here for dinner.”
“No, I really need to—” His gaze settled on the ingredients on the stovetop. “Wait. Are you making stroganoff? Okay. I’ll be down. Just holler for me.”
I chuckled as Isaac headed off. “You must make some damn good stroganoff.”
He shrugged. “It’s aight, I guess.”
I couldn’t stifle my laugh. “Yeah, you might want to give up the humble act, Cozies. Doesn’t really fit you.”
He wore a cocky grin as he returned to the table with a bottle and two glasses, and poured one for each of us.
With those beautiful lips curled into a smile and a mix of confidence and vulnerability that was agitating me in all the right ways, I thought about what he’d said when we were messing around—
Get out of my head.
Yeah, I had a hunch I was going to be the one struggling to get this no-good Mitchell out of my head.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Cohen
The next few weeks were crazy. Like, “I couldn’t believe how much fucking work we were doing” crazy. Isaac and I rarely stopped. We had government and licensing shit to deal with that was a fucking mess and took up a good chunk of our time. We couldn’t get on track to open until we had it taken care of, but we also had to fucking make some whiskey before we could open too, which couldn’t start until the other shit was dealt with.
“Can you hand me the list of farmers Brody gave us for sourcing grain?” Isaac asked. We’d put a second desk in Harris’s office, so we each had our own space there now. He’d been invaluable, as always.
“Yep.” I handed it over. “I was going to do some research. Obviously we want grain from different climates and soils—that adds to the flavor—but I’m hoping to find some obscure…fuck, I don’t know, something different.”
“Playing devil’s advocate for a moment, if we go too different—at least right out of the gate—are we still Mitchell Creek? A lot of people, especially when it comes to this small-town kinda brand, want things to stay the same. Want to be comfortable, see the familiar. Your dad left you those names and recipes. You know how important branding is. People who used to drink Mitchell Creek come to it for something specific. If you change that, some will rebel.”
“Yeah, but you also know that staying the same and never growing is just as big a mistake. You have to take chances.”
He nodded. “Yeah, agreed. And honestly, the fucking bottling? It’s shit. I really want to change that up. We can always consider something like…oh! What about like an Old Timer line of whiskey? It can be the familiar taste and packaging people have known and loved for a hundred years, and then we have…hmm…The City Boy? Start small, with one new bottle, new recipe, different grain, and test the waters.”
He was a fucking genius. Outside of loving him like a brother, there was a reason I needed Isaac by my side. “I’m liking this. It’s going to cost more, though. I don’t know if it’s in the budget Harris set aside for reopening, but I’d be willing to front the cost. I mean, we need to figure out what in the fuck we’d even do. I know jack shit about whiskey recipes, but Brody might have some ideas, and we can hire someone.”
“Let me do some research, and you talk to your boy.”
I let the “your boy” comment go. Brody had been invaluable to us, answering questions, giving us names and data we wouldn’t know without him. It was a risk for him, one I didn’t take lightly. His family was close, and I knew Big Daddy, Lee, and Dwain would see it as a betrayal if they knew he was working with…and sucking off…the enemy.
“Did you put together those marketing reports I asked you to get for the O’Ralleys? And I was trying to think of a way we can help without them knowing we’re helping…silent donation? Secret Angel Investment? If Big Daddy knew it was us, he’d lose his shit, but…” But I knew that while money wasn’t a problem for me—I had what Harris left and my own cash, which wasn’t chump change—it was a problem for the O’Ralleys.